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So, lovers – are you ready for ‘the best Asian food MKR has ever seen’? You are?

Hooray for great expectations about to get crushed!

Yes yes we know these recaps are late, but we’ve been embroiled in a particularly vicious battle with a thing called ‘work’, because apparently being petty little bitches on the internet doesn’t count as up-skilling.

Anyhoo we already know that Eva and Debra are best buddies, but what we didn’t know is that neither of them are smart enough to tank up with petrol the night before a timed challenge.

‘This is not a good start,’ worries Eva, which Deb reckons is just silly because this is an AWESOME start and they could take out a pedestrian and everything would still work out FINE.

Oh dear.

According to Skinny Pete and Manu, the menu is ‘exciting’, partly for the Asian flavours and partly for the second course which could either be a made up word or that stew he once had in Bali with all the severed heads – and in that case: polarising.

But back to the girls because they’re in this to prove that it’s not just two cute blondes who can ruin their grandparent’s legacy.

Hooray!

Anyhoo with shopping done it’s back to the house and apparently these two live in a building site because there’s not even a driveway for them to pull up into. Across a depressing little patch of grass they run to a tiny little house which must have some sort of driveway because apparently they’re serving dinner in the garage.

‘Let’s put shit loads of vodka in the punch!’ suggests Debra, which Rico reckons is the first sensible thought she’s had all day, and will do wonders for the more claustrophobic diners who get ill from the smell of exhaust vapour and empty bottles of Armorall.

By the time they finish faffing around throwing spices over the oil stains, it’s half an hour into their cooking time and that means the moment has come start gushing over the aprons, not actually start cooking.

Rico reckons there’s no way these two would waste all this time if they weren’t a crack squad of cooking professionals used to firing out a three course masterpiece in less time than it takes to strip a nappy off a struggling child. Unless of course they really are dumber than a hatfull of Miranda Kerrs, and in that case: Buckle. Up.

When the cooking finally starts, Eva is getting busy with the crème brulee mix because there’s a lot to be done to turn it into the curdled, vomitus slop they eventually serve out the judges in approximately 5 hours time. Deb, meanwhile, gets cracking on the wonton skins, and tipping the biggest sack of ginger in the history of TIME into the broth.

Unaware of the impending ginger disaster are the other teams, and as per usual Obvious Wanker Adam has come armed with tennis analogies.

‘It’s like two people coming on to a tennis court and only one walking away because the other one got his racket shoved down his fucking throat!’ he explains.

Rico reckons it’s a good thing that partially deaf Emilie missed that entirely because otherwise she’d be answering her own ‘I wonder if there are any mean people’ question with: ‘who knows, but there’s at least one wanker’.

As they get to the door Celine lets all the other teams in addition to the neighbouring suburbs know that she’s ready for good food, and the Dog mutters that, in hindsight, it’s at this point the girls should have taken off their aprons and rung for a pizza.

Ding Dong!

But what’s this? The front garden has no grass! In fact it’s not even an actual garden but more like a terrarium for things so ugly they don’t deserve nice things to look at. Rico reckons this is highly suspect and if it wasn’t for the lack of smoke stacks and barrel-faced women in tiny dresses, he’d swear we were in Mount Isa.

Into the garage conversion they go and Obvious Wanker Adam takes one look at the cramped quarters and declares that ‘it will be a tough match tonight’ – especially if he’s seated next to someone unattractive like Vicki, or his wife.

While the girls hop off to the kitchen, presumably to waste more precious time, Celine gets them all going with her Manu impression, followed by her Con the Fruiterer impression which has Sheri in stitches and Carol wondering whether Celine has a plug and if yanking it out will shut her the hell up.

Back in the kitchen and there’s idiocy afoot because Eva is loading the creme brulee into the freezer and doesn’t appear to be blind drunk. Meanwhile, Skinny Pete and Manu are having trouble peeling themselves away from the limo bar fridge because while the driver says they’ve arrived, all they can see is a couple of pallets of timber and an over-sized port-a-loo.

Still, they gamely cross the wasteland, find a doorbell on the port-a-loo and resign themselves to the fact that they’ll be spending the next several hours praying for a tornado.

Ding dong!

‘They’re HERE’ trill the girls. ‘Let’s leave them outside for ages so they can admire our lack of garden!’

When they finally let them in, Skinny Pete’s lips are white and Manu is poking around in the dumpster looking for butt-ends. Into the munchkin’s cottage they go where Celine gives Manu the welcome news that their chairs are so close together their thighs may as well share a napkin.

Looking around the table and there’s a lot of confusion about what exactly the main course is and why middle-aged Vicky is wearing pink eyeshadow. Skinny Pete reckons he has no fucking idea and escapes to the kitchen to make some girls cry.

‘Tell me about all about your dead granny’ he murmurs to Deb during an opportune moment with some pork mix. And just like that Debs is off and blubbering and, considerably brighter, Skinny Pete slips back out to the dining room.

It takes time, not to mention a whole other sack of ginger poured into the broth, but eventually Deb stops crying long enough to taste her masterpiece.

‘If they don’t like ginger they’re not foodies!’ she announces, which Rico says is stupid considering a man can easily like something, but just not want it rammed down his throat on broth-shaped fist.

Out they come and Manu immediately proves Rico’s point by spraying gingery phlegm across the table. While Manu is recovering in the depths of his water glass, Pete breaks the news that it looked just lovely, but tasted uglier than the surrounding suburb.

‘Oh no!’ squeaks Debra, who now has no choice but to consider that dear departed granny couldn’t cook for shit either.

Manu agrees and explains the reaction of his tastebuds from ‘ooh ginger!’ to ‘KILL ME NOW! KILL ALL OF US NOW!’

Back to the kitchen they go leaving Vicky to try and stretch her tiny mouth around the giant wontons and Matt, the Hemsworth and Rico to giggle because they’re fourteen year old boys.

Onto the main and the girls have regrouped enough to focus on the main which is apparently about 80 different components balanced precariously together on a plate. The coconut rice, according to Debs, is ‘the star’ because it will set off the vile combination of anchovies, egg and sloppy asian vegetable perfectly.

‘Do you think they’ll be happy with wings?’ wonders Eva.

‘We love wings and they will too!’ gushes Debs, which Rico reckons is crap because if wings are so great why are cheapskates KFC always trying to get away with two in their three-piece meal.

Anyhoo, while Eva messes with the wings, Debs pulls the dessert out of the freezer and appears genuinely confused by the crust of ice on top. Eva, seeing the state of the brulee is devastated, and not even remotely consoled when creative genius Deb suggests they leave it on the bench top and hope the thawing process fixes all their fuck-ups.

Out at the table and Obvious Wanker Adam is fascinating the table with stories of tight tennis shorts and testicles so sweaty they needed their own wrist bands. Hearing-impaired Emilie tells the cameras that it’s not easy to follow the conversation, but because Adam is talking she’s happy to zone out and imagine a world without his cripplingly dull tennis stories in it.

Out come the mains and while Obvious Wanker Adam gives narrow-eyes at the chicken wings, Celine takes one look at her plate of Asian bric-a-brac and sounds the Barf Alarm.

Despite sitting next to someone about to blow, Manu tucks into his food and returns the verdict that while there are many things on the plate he hopes never swallow again, there’s actually some stuff that’s good! Skinny Pete agrees and says flavourless greens aside, it wasn’t nearly as disgusting as the entree so bring on a fantastic dessert!

The girls skip back to the kitchen buoyed by the news that it wasn’t a complete bust and that Celine was probably bluffing. But then they remember the brulee defrosting on the sideboard and their mood hits a new low.

‘Quick get out the Coles frozen raspberries!’ snaps Debs. Because if they can’t live up to their promise of a decent dessert, the least they can do is give everyone Hepatitis.

‘Let’s put a shitload of sugar on top to make it crunchy!’ suggests Eva, who likes the idea of giving everyone an insidious virus, but isn’t convinced it will help their scores.

A bit blow-torching and tossing up between fruits later, and there’s a bit of slop in a ramekin on it’s way out to the judges.

‘Get the water on standby’ mutters Rico and sure enough, barely has the spoon gone through the sugar than Manu is packing on more fluid than a pregnant woman at a desk job.

While the Dog cowers behind its Harpers Bazaar and Rico and I drink to forget, Manu holds up his spoon to demonstrate the difference between well executed creme brulee and something that resembles coagulated hog spunk.

According to Skinny Pete, the texture is ‘like scrambled eggs’, and the last time he saw something as unappetising he was watching back to back gay porn starring an actor who clearly wasn’t living Paleo.

Around the table and once again Celine is a Code Amber on the Blow-o-Metre and not even sweet, deaf Emilie can pretend her stomach isn’t screaming for mercy. It’s no surprise then that the team score adds up to a rather hideous 21, and not even Manu liking their entree and Pete not hating the main are enough to scrape them off the bottom of the leader board.

Debs takes the news that they are sitting on 46 ‘to heart’ and so it’s up to Obvious Wanker Adam to console them with more tennis analogies about losing a five set match but still finding a ball girl drunk enough to have sex with you.

Speaking of Obvious Wanker Adam, Channel 7 are also wankers because they changed the viewing time of Sunday’s MKR again and Rico became so enraged at missing half an hour of his most beloved show that he threw a port at the screen and spent the rest of the night sulking in the Dog’s room.